


there's a road that's long and winding, it hollers home

by deemohn



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Boundaries, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Moving In Together, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deemohn/pseuds/deemohn
Summary: Trent's hurt. Chuck and Orange grieve and scheme together.
Relationships: Trent Barreta/Orange Cassidy/Chuck Taylor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	there's a road that's long and winding, it hollers home

Chuck splashes some water on his face and stares at himself in the mirror, and the image that stared back isn’t great. Red eyes, blotchy face, disheveled hair. Just a real nasty boy. He inhales, and lets another moment pass to steel himself, making certain that he won’t burst out crying in public again.

Just as he’s about to leave the bathroom, the door opens and it’s Orange that enters. 

“Hey man,” Chuck greets him with a less-than sincere smile. 

“Sup,” Orange mumbles. They both stand there, air heavy and both awkwardly scuffing the floor. When the fuck was the the last time anything was awkward between them? 

“You uh, alright?” Chuck cautiously asks, his hands tightly gripping the edges of the sink. 

“Yeah,” Orange is doing his best to sound nonchalant, but Chuck can see the tear stains that stretch just below the aviator shades. 

“Fuck, c’mere.” Chuck holds his arms out, and Orange crosses the room to collapse into them. There’s a sharp inhale, one loud sob, and then it’s quiet. They stay like that for a while, Chuck’s face buried in Orange’s hair and Orange shuddering. 

Eventually, they both pull themselves together and finally leave the restroom. A pitstop is taken to a vending machine, and Chuck buys himself some shitty cookies and Orange some juice. 

“He’s been texting me,” Orange finally admits. “He’s worried about you freaking out.” 

“That bitch,” laughs Chuck. “Shoulda known when the group chat was quiet.” 

“Not that he’s any good at it.” The 'it' in question being Trent with group chats, which he'll often reply in, only to text the same exact information to the individual recipients. 

“So what are we looking at?” The glance that Orange gives isn’t encouraging. 

“Partial tear of his pec.” Chuck groans at the news. 

“Aw fuck, not his tit again!” 

“Yeah man.” They both sigh. The cookie bag is opened, and Chuck offers one to Orange. In return, Orange offers a sip of his drink to Chuck, and he accepts. 

“So...that’s a couple of months, at least,” Chuck finally says, and Orange’s mouth forms a hard line. “Fuck. He’s gonna be up in stupid Rochester the entire time, being stupid and sad and cranking it all alone. And then he’ll be like ‘oh man, poor me I’m so depressed!’ Idiot.” 

Orange snorts and shakes his head. His lips are now pursed, and Chuck can tell that he’s thinking. “Have you tried talking to him again?” 

“About moving in?” Chuck asks and Orange nods in confirmation. “Not recently. He gets...weird, y’know?” 

“He needs space.” Orange tilts his head up towards Chuck, his shades now low enough that the tops of his eyes are visible. “We can give him that. Not like we sleep in separate beds anymore.” 

Chuck hums in contemplation. “We’d need to get a much bigger bed. You mind splitting the cost of that?” 

Orange nods again. “We’d probably want that anyway. For when he’s in the mood to share.” 

“OK.” Chuck agrees. “I mean, don’t expect anything, but…” he trails off, but then stares at Orange for a long while. 

“What?” asks Orange, shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny. 

“You should ask him.” Chuck’s got a shit-eating grin now, and he’s doing the crazy eyes thing like he’s devised some wild scheme. When Orange doesn’t respond and worries his bottom lip, Chuck throws his arms up. “C’mon, man! He listens to you, and I don’t…” he exhales and visibly deflates. “I don’t want him to be away for a few months again, that sucks.” 

Some time goes by before Orange agrees. 

* * *

When Trent’s released, his arm’s in a sling. His bruise somehow looks like it’s darker and has stretched further. Chuck and Orange bracket him from both sides, and he’s doing that thing where he’s upbeat after a diagnosis and ready to show off gross x-rays. Chuck reaches a freakishly long arm around Trent’s back to pinch Orange’s arm, and Orange glares at him. 

“So you should move in with us,” Orange says matter-of-factly. Trent’s quiet for a moment, tosses Chuck a quick glance, and then he smiles. 

“Yeah, OK!” 

“WAIT, THAT’S IT?” Chuck shouts while they’re in line to settle the co-pay, and Orange punches his arm. 

“You can have my old room,” Orange starts to explain. “Chuck and I will share a room, but that can also be your room, too. When you want it to be.” 

”Sounds good.” Trent kisses Orange’s temple, then turns to Chuck and plants a kiss on his cheek as well. Whatever frustration that Chuck had been bottling and was ready to release just...vanishes. It suddenly doesn’t matter that he’s spent the past 5 years trying to reason with Trent about this, and it doesn’t matter if it was the timing or that Orange was the one that managed to finally get through to him. 

When they get back to the hotel room, they book a Uhaul and discuss who’s gonna be the one to drive Trent’s car down to Philly. 

And Trent makes the rare decision that night to share the bed, nestled safely between the two of them.


End file.
